


Every Other Dawn

by venvephe



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Getting Together, Harry Hart Lives, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Coital, Puppies, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6037882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no such thing as too much tooth-rotting fluff.</p><p>An alphabetically-ordered collection of the fluffy, short-form pieces that I've been writing to compliment and contrast the angst-off of coffeeinallcaps and DivineProjectZero. Each chapter is a separate story and they are not all necessarily chronological to canon <i>or</i> within the same universes/timelines.</p><p>Currently A-L; M is coming soon!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a is for adidas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DivineProjectZero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProjectZero/gifts), [coffeeinallcaps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/gifts).



> This series began last summer, when my dear friends and most talented writers coffeeinallcaps and DivineProjectZero started to write an alphabetically-ordered set of prompts with deliciously angsty ficlets. With their blessing, I decided to jump in and follow the same prompts - but writing sweet, fluffy pieces rather than angst to contrast their works. Everything that has been written by them so far for this series has been excellent and painful; I flatter myself that my works are a balm to such angsty pain.
> 
> Each chapter is its own separate story, and follows the letter prompt - though often in a very different direction from the angst fills. To that end, it's been an absolute joy to write these and I hope we'll finish them soon!
> 
> As for the title: with all darkness comes a dawn, which I aspire for these little pieces to be.
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry’s always been a man of creature comforts and good taste: fine wines with dinner, down pillows in bed, silk ties to match his suits. If there’s something worth doing, in his opinion, it’s worth doing in comfort and style - and when he joins Kingsman, there’s no price on elegance, anymore. It’s all the more bonus that the double-breasted suits are both pinstripe and cut of the finest silk-Kevlar blend. As a Kingsman he’s the pinnacle of class and men’s fashion, and he prides himself in cultivating the look of a true gentleman.

But then there’s Eggsy Unwin - quick-witted, loyal and loving, a heart of gold under his street-toughened shell - who has as much potential to be a gentleman, and a _totally opposite_ sense of fashion. It’s camouflage, and Harry doesn’t see past it at first - the trainer and polo and tipped cap that all match, bright colors and prints and gold chain. He’d wrinkled his nose at it, determined to get Eggsy in a _proper_ suit and put the Adidas nonsense behind them.

And then, clad in loud black-and-yellow with those _ridiculous_ winged shoes, tied to the rails and fiercely, determinedly protecting Kingsman - Eggsy says _Fuck yeah_ , and at the sight something in Harry’s mind clicks into place. Eggsy passes the test, and when he’s up and out of the rope he rubs his wrists and grins at Harry, straightens his collar and cap so he’s perfectly put-together again. It’s armor as worthy of a Kingsman as Harry’s suit is, and Harry kicks himself a little for not seeing it sooner.

Eggsy sheds the plaque-printed sweatshirt when he enters Harry’s office, shucking it over a chair as Harry instructs him on the proper mixing of a martini, and when one drink turns to three Harry finds that as lovely as the clothes do look on Eggsy, he looks just as lovely _out_ of them. 

Strewn out all over his floor, Adidas doesn’t look so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	2. b is for booze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From my original tags on this piece: #wintery Christmas fluff #also known as MY FAVORITE KIND OF FLUFF
> 
> Enjoy!

They go back to The Black Prince once in a while, when downtime between missions abroad allows for it - in part because it’s sort of a tradition, in part because just their mere presence keeps Dean’s goons in check, and in part - well, in part because it’s real nice to share a pint with a friend at the local and relax under the bubbly influence of alcohol.

Harry usually orders a pint of Guinness - usually, but not always; Eggsy samples whatever’s on tap, and delights in offering Harry sips and hearing his humorous - and occasionally scathing - opinions as to the quality of Britain’s beers. They snack on chips between beers and Eggsy dips his in Harry’s ketchup when he’s run out of his own; by October, Harry barely raises his eyebrows in protest and just swipes Eggsy’s pint in retaliation, draining the last half-inch and the lacy dregs that remain in the bottom of the glass.

Three weeks into November, Harry leans in and adjusts Eggsy’s scarf for him as they stand to leave, and Eggsy grins up at him. He’s flushed from the drink - which he maintains helps against the cold -and Harry, as always, escorts him home as Eggsy complains and slurs through his accent about their recent paired mission together. Harry gently right him with a hand on Eggsy’s waist when he sways too close to the edge of the street, caught up in gesticulating along with his story, and Harry lets his hand linger for an extra heartbeat of a second.

In December, The Black Prince is decorated for the holidays, boughs on the bar-top and baubles in the glowing windows. They drink mulled wine instead of beer, for once, and a cider or two after that, and by the time they shuffle to the door smiling and chuckling with good cheer, gentle flakes have started to fall on London. The night is quiet and soft, all hazy yellow street-lamps casting pools of light in the snow, hushed but for their footsteps. Eggsy only lets himself waver for a second when the thought enters his head, but the wine’s dulled his inhibitions and he does it - just leans into Harry’s warm weight as they walk side by side, the fresh layer of powdery snow swirling at their feet and clinging to their Oxfords. Eggsy can barely breathe in the space of the moment it takes Harry to move against him, wrap an arm firmly around Eggsy’s waist to pull him a little closer, until their scarves begin to tangle and twine in the soft, chilly breeze.

Eggsy’s heart pounds in his ears and his face is warm, so warm - from this, from Harry or from the booze he isn’t sure, and doesn’t care - and Harry’s smiling down at him, the secret smile they’ve shared all these months across the table. And now, breath mixing in the snowy air, even this distance of a few inches is too much for Eggsy, so he lets them drift to a stop on the pavement and tugs Harry down with a gloved hand in his scarf until their mouths meet.

Snow plays around their ankles and the wind blows more of it into their hair but it doesn’t matter, because their cinnamon-spiked kisses taste so good, and Eggsy decides he only ever wants to drink mulled wine if it’s like this - off the sweet softness of Harry’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	3. c is for cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff, a little implied smut. As you do.

“ _Fuck_ , I need a smoke,” Eggsy sighs and collapses backwards, blissfully exhausted and grinning up at the ceiling - and Harry, who’s still nestled between Eggsy’s thighs. He can’t wipe the smile from his face - or the blush that’s warming his cheeks, accompanying the fizzy, languorous happiness of post-orgasm endorphins.

There’s a beat, a pause as Harry looks down at him fondly and quirks an eyebrow, reaching out to comb Eggsy’s damp hair into a somewhat tidier mess. “You don’t smoke,” he says, running his fingers down to cup Eggsy cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to his plush mouth before rolling off and to the side, gathering Eggsy up against his chest. Eggsy wriggles and squirms until he’s comfortable, and then looks over his shoulder to smile at Harry again.

“Did for a while,” he admits, reaching out with his toes to run them up and down Harry’s bare calves under the covers, “but with the baby, with Daisy - and it’s a bloody gross habit, realized that after I stopped. But there’s something about sex, that-” he shakes his head, snuggling closer.

“That good?” Harry murmurs in his ear, and Eggsy chuckles, stretching against him again. Harry curls a hand around his hip, pets the sweaty skin there and peppers kisses along Eggsy’s nape.

“More than _that good_ , God, you’re brilliant,” Eggsy’s tone is filled with wonder and lazy contentment, and he yawns, “’M gonna be sore for days, and it’s gonna be _great._ Let’s never get out of bed.”

“Now that’s just impractical,” Harry laughs, and Eggsy looks back at him again, grinning.

“You know,” he says, “with the cigarettes - mum always said it was probably an oral fixation thing, more than it was the cigs.”

“Well you shan’t go back to smoking,” Harry says firmly, “God knows I had enough of that in my youth, and being an agent is dangerous enough as it is without inviting lung cancer to the party. But if it’s your oral fixation that caused you to mention it…” he trails off, and Eggsy presses back, back into Harry’s half-hard cock, which glides so perfectly against the still-slick cleft of his arse. It only takes a gentle touch on his jaw for Harry to turn Eggsy’s head enough to kiss him, open-mouthed and filthy, pouring more heat into the kiss than Eggsy’d thought possible for the two of them less than fifteen minutes after the first round.

Harry pulls away and their lips part with a wet sound, pink and kiss-swollen again, and leans his forehead against Eggsy’s.

“Your mouth is quite lovely, my dear,” he purrs, glancing down at it before meeting Eggsy’s eyes again with a wink. “I’m sure we can think of something for you to do with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	4. d is for destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's fluff and then there's _literal fluff_.

The first thing that Harry and Eggsy plan to do, when they return home to London and Harry’s house, is collapse into bed. They’ve mutually agreed that they really don’t care about what order their activities end up in - sex first or sleep first, or perhaps one followed by the other - probably more than once - but after a successful though draining mission, they’re very ready to see Harry’s massive and plush king-size bed once more. And stay there for one - or several - days.

Harry’s got Eggsy up and over his shoulder, laughing and cracking jokes as he always does, Harry swatting at his arse in retaliation to Eggsy’s cheek - as good a use for the dregs of their energy as any - but when he gets to the bedroom doorway he audibly gasps, and Eggsy swivels to look over his shoulder, eyes wide with surprise.

What they _don’t_ expect to see is this:

The pillows - _my pillow_ , Eggsy nearly whines - that were once neatly arranged against the headboard are strewn about the bed and the room, positively torn to shreds; gaping holes are ripped in some, pillowcases torn to ribbons or pierced with holes, down feathers coating the floor and duvet like a fine, fluffy snowfall. The curtains are rumpled and pulled, the sheets tugged this way and that - and amongst it all JB, lazing amongst his destruction like a king on a throne, tongue lolling out and panting with an air of innocence only dogs seem able to achieve.

“ _Jack Bauer Unwin-Hart_!” Eggsy groans, sliding down from Harry’s grasp and running his hands through his hair, part amazed and part exasperated at the sight. “It’s been two days - and mum’s been by with Daisy, she texted me a picture! I told you we’d be coming back! There was no need to- _this_!”

Harry sighs and clicks his tongue, stepping into the room - avoiding the gruesome chunks of his former pillows as best he can - to remove JB from his royal perch. The pug snuffles his hands when he’s picked up, expression not changing in the slightest as he’s man-handled to the floor. Once deposited there he shakes, sending little puffy feathers into the air around him, and trots over to sniff at Eggsy’s shoes and lick at the leather.

“You can’t blame him,” Harry says, placating, as he studies the wreckage of their bedding and tries to see if any of it is salvageable, “He’s aptly named, though at the time you couldn’t have had any idea he’d turn out to be so destructive. Dogs do this kind of thing, if they’re bored and have nothing else.”

Eggsy sighs, and with a grunt picks JB off the floor and nestles him into the crook of his arm, scratching his dark ears despite the tired frown still on his face. “I did want to sleep in that, tonight. With you..”

Harry pulls the duvet and top-sheet - rumpled, parts covered in short, dun-covered hair and damp feathers but otherwise intact -  and returns to Eggsy in the doorway, dropping a kiss onto Eggsy’s head and, then, onto JB’s.

“Not to worry, love,” he says, and leads their little band away from the crime scene that is their bedroom and back down the stairs, towards the sitting room. “We’ll camp out on the sofa tonight, and deal with that mess in the morning.”

With a yawn Eggsy follows, and in no time at all they’re out of their suits and ties and curled into each other on the sofa, tucked with the duvet over their legs and JB wriggling in beside them.

“Both of you drool on me in your sleep, anyways,” Eggsy says sleepily, nuzzling into the crook of Harry’s neck, and Harry snorts. “What’s a little more than usual for one night, eh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	5. e is for envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not super fluffy, but this prompt turned out to be more difficult than expected. Enjoy!

The first time Eggsy sees Harry Hart fight, he can’t breathe.

This is a man that he’s just met, after all. He’s got the posh gentleman thing going on, all pinstripes and transition lenses and bloody _umbrella_ , you can’t blame Eggsy for thinking that he comes across as a bit _grandad_ for all his talk about doing something with his life. And then Dean’s goons get involved, and Eggsy would put his head in his hands if he could, because this guy’s got _no_ idea what he’s getting himself into, and then -

Eggsy’s not a romantic, but Harry Hart is poetry in motion - brutal, efficient poetry. He twists with a long-legged grace that Eggsy hadn’t thought possible, slams through the thugs with the force of a hurricane, and Eggsy’s never seen anything more beautiful.

He’s half-hard when Harry slides into the booth again, slumps back against it and drains his Guinness in one long gulp. Because fuck, he knows he’s bi, and his cock knows what it wants even if that happens to be upper-class secret agents several decades older than him.

Eggsy says yes to Kingsman, and gets to know Harry Hart better - meets his fellow recruits, gets a dog, jumps out of planes. The more he experiences of Kingsman, the more he realizes what it’s taken for Harry to be forged into the man he is today - and his lust takes a back seat to admiration, for a while. Harry stops by to see him during his training to say hello and meet JB, and he can feel himself standing taller, trying to impress him. It feels strangely - good. To have someone who he admires, someone who also likes him for who he is and believes in him.

And then, well - Eggsy walks into Merlin’s office one afternoon and there’s Harry on his mission in Italy, rumpled and flushed and breathing hard, half-naked. The feed is from Harry’s glasses but - jesus, there’s a mirror on the ceiling, that’s how the camera is catching this, Harry spread out and writing underneath a dark-skinned man that’s making him _moan_ like-

Eggsy turns on his heel and is out of the room before Merlin turn off the feed and say his name a second time, something dark and hot burning in his gut. His throat fills with it, and he flings himself onto his bunk so hard that JB bounces a little into the air, whining at Eggsy’s visible anger.

He’s too worked up to wank about it - if he even could, surrounded by the other candidates as he is.

The feeling simmers in his guts for days, pushes him to run faster and hit harder. It causes his stomach to clench, when Harry walks into the room for the first time since Eggsy’s seen him like - since.

But then Harry’s the way he’s always been - supportive and charismatic, witty and funny in ways that still surprises Eggsy - and the feeling fades, though the memory of Harry like _that_ clings to the back of his mind, replays at night like a film he can’t control. It wakes him up at night, hard and panting - and with time, so does just the memory of Harry’s hand on his shoulder, firm and strong, a lingering touch in the Black Prince so soon after they’d met. The secret smile Harry gives him when he’s about to say something scathingly improper for a gentleman - and the length of his legs in those perfectly-tailored suits. Eggsy’s long gone for Harry by the time he recognizes the hot-dark feeling of seeing Harry with another man as _envy._ And isn’t that a thought.

So when Merlin says to Harry, _you have twenty-four hours with your candidate,_ a shiver runs down Eggsy’s spine, and he resolutely doesn’t look over his shoulder. But his mind has immediately leapt to the possibilities, and he can’t shake them even as they walk up the front steps and step through Harry’s door, head for Harry’s office to have a drink to celebrate Eggsy making it thus far.

But it’s to Eggsy’s surprise that when they have one strong martini after another, he catches Harry’s eyes lingering as long as his own. He licks his lips and catches the dart of Harry’s pupils as he glances down at his tongue, and that’s all he needs - that and a little liquid courage, to slide out of his chair and round Harry’s desk to take a seat in his lap, instead.

It’s even more of a surprise when Harry growls, tears at his clothes, mumbles about being annoyed that he’s gotten so close to Roxy - and Charlie, _Charlie?!_ \- and that he’s been wanting Eggsy just for himself for _months._

With Harry’s tongue in his mouth and hands on his arse Eggsy’s really in no place to respond, let alone tell Harry about his own brush with lust-related envy, but that’s all right - he’s got Harry all to himself now, and that’s exactly where he prefers to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	6. f is for fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of hurt-comfort fluff for you!

Harry hadn’t been expecting this.

Oh, he’s had romantic partners before - lovers during various parts of his life, from university dalliances to the more dangerous - and interesting - affairs he’s had since becoming a Kingsman agents. None of them have been quite like this, to be fair, though that’s as much because there’s no one quite like Eggsy Unwin as it is Harry himself. No, this is rather a surprise; Harry can’t help but be a little taken aback.

That’s only a small part of his mind, though; the rest takes a kind of vicious pleasure in the victory of smashing Eggsy’s captor over the head with the butt of his gun.

His rage is potent, sitting heavy and hot in his gut and pounding through his veins; he dispatches the kidnappers with ruthless efficiency, Eggsy watching on with wide eyes, mouth duct-taped shut and still shackled to the metal chair. His heart only begins to calm when they’re groaning and writhing on the floor - the ones still half-conscious, that is. Harry holsters his gun and swallows, pushing his anger to the side and letting the protective, fierce love in his chest take over instead.

“Fucking christ, Harry,” Eggsy winces when Harry peels off the tape, cradling Eggsy’s chin in his hands and pressing a kiss to his reddened lips. “Didn’t have to be so brutal,” Eggsy mumbles between kisses, and then rattles his hands in the cuffs where they’re linked behind his back. “Let me out of these, will you?" 

 Harry doesn’t take his time, but he channels his protective instinct into tenderness instead - it’s not easy, but it’s worth it to see Eggsy’s eyelashes flutter when he kisses along the abraided red lines on his wrist, the bruise blooming on his knuckles, the cut on his cheek.

 Eggsy must’ve given his kidnappers hell when he was captured; Harry can read the story of it in Eggsy’s injuries, and the flame of anger inside him is only tamed by the fact that he has Eggsy safe in his arms again, and that the kidnappers are going to pay not only in the physical pain he’s already brought them, but with the swift and merciless fury Merlin will employ to dismantle their smuggling organization from the inside-out.

 "You would have done the same for me,” Harry tells Eggsy as he leads him out of the compound, one arm around Eggsy’s waist and Eggsy’s arm over his broad shoulders, walking in a slow shuffle so Eggsy can limp with Harry taking the brunt of his weight. 

 "I know,“ Eggsy admits, with a grimace that turns into a soft grin, "Didn’t have to do that for me, though." 

 "Nonsense,” Harry replies, “I did it for myself as much as you." 

 "Letting off a little steam, eh?” Eggsy chuckles. Harry smiles down at him, leaning down to press a kiss to Eggsy’s temple and smooth back his sweat-soaked hair. 

 "It seems when it comes to you,“ Harry ponders aloud, "I haven’t been able to control my anger in protecting you or your honor for longer than I realized.”

 "That’s putting it mildly,“ Eggsy smiles, and squeezes Harry’s shoulder with his uninjured hand. By the time they return to the Kingsman plane Eggsy’s walking more or less normally, and in decent enough spirits to keep up with his banter with Harry - but he doesn’t pull away from Harry’s embrace, and holds Harry’s hand all the way back until he falls asleep with their hands still linked. 

 To Harry, this is a far better outcome than even exacting his revenge on Eggsy’s captors - the softness of his hair against Harry’s cheek and Eggsy’s gentle exhales as he sleeps. He squeezes Eggsy’s hand tighter, and vows to protect him with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	7. g is for ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe a little bit of angst. With a happy ending!

Eggsy doesn’t believe in ghosts.

Not in the paranormal, supernatural sense, anyways; not in the way that spooky stories or haunted tours of London would want him to believe, at least. He holds no illusions about spirits, or the undead, or bodies that don’t stay where they are supposed to rest.

No, death is something worse, something there is no coming back from. He’s haunted by the ghost of his father, but it ain’t no ethereal mist that takes a kind of human form and follows him about - it’s the weight on his mother’s shoulders and the way she glances at the front door like she’s still waiting for him to walk through it at dinner-time, the shadow that passes behind her eyes when she looks at Eggsy as he grows older - as he grows to look more and more like Lee. 

So he doesn’t believe in the kind of ghosts that other people talk about - not until he watches Richmond Valentine shoot Harry Hart through the head, and the noise that’s ripped out of him echoes in his own ears and haunts his dreams. The moment replays in hid mind, over and over - but Eggsy doesn’t know which is worse, _that_ or the memory of his last conversation with Harry, disappointment in Harry’s eyes and firm determination in the lines of his mouth as he says he’ll return, get this - _Eggsy_ \- sorted.

Harry doesn’t return like he’s supposed to, and yeah, death is definitely worse.

But then Eggsy starts hearing a little voice in his ear, reminding him to straighten his tie when he looks in the mirror, to keep his chin up and to _not cut the red wire, Eggsy, bomb diffusion is a serious matter and this isn’t that kind of film-_

He surges awake at night at the sound of Harry’s voice, eyes darting around the dark of his flat to find nothing there, despite the _realness_ of it, despite the warmth in Harry’s tone and the assurances Eggsy will see him again. He can’t fall asleep again no matter how much he wants to, to embed himself again in the dreams that are too fleeting, too ethereal and gauzy to be of any comfort.

On missions, Harry’s voice tells him to duck to avoid a shower of bullets, quips wryly about the ineptitude of his assailants and compliments him on the brutal and effective use of his umbrella; there’s the shadow of a touch at his elbow and he almost- for a moment there’s a blur in the window’s reflection in the shape of a man, but it’s gone as soon as Eggsy focuses on it, and he doesn’t let himself dwell on impossibilities. Not until he’s gotten a martini in him, anyways. 

So if the breezes in London have gotten progressively stronger, tugging his shirt-sleeves or suit tails more and more often, well - Eggsy’s glad for it, if it prevents him from stepping off the pavement at just the right moment, or aids in catching his attention on the rogue agent he’s chasing through the streets. And maybe he’s started to revise his opinion of ghosts - though whatever strange memory of Harry is in his dreams and circling his mind and showing up, here and there, just out of sight in his life, it’s no comparison to the real thing. The real Harry.

When Eggsy does see Harry again, for the first, time, he has to do a double take - because that is Harry Hart on his couch in the sitting room, a cup of tea at his elbow, and Eggsy is so used to catching Harry out of the corner of his eye and nothing more that he openly stares for several seconds without moving.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, in just the same way that he’s been saying _Eggsy_ for months now, and Eggsy can’t breathe.

It takes his feet a few moments to get with the program, and he takes a few careful steps forward - like if he gets too close Harry will evaporate in front of his eyes, dissolve back into a dream and leave Eggsy alone again - but Harry just waits, and watches patiently as Eggsy approaches him. The cup of tea is steaming, and Harry makes a face when Eggsy sticks a finger in it - but it’s hot, it’s real, not another conjuration of his imagination - and so - 

“Harry,” Eggsy whispers, hands shaking as he reaches out for Harry’s face, and at the look on Eggsy’s face Harry’s out of his seat and pulling Eggsy in, murmuring, ‘Oh, _Eggsy_ ,” into Eggsy’s hair and refusing to let go.

Eggsy trembles with a wheezing sob but he’s smiling even as his tears make his eyelashes wet and his face pink, crushed against Harry’s chest as he is and wrapped in Harry’s long arms, in the all-too-familiar scent of Harry’s cologne. He breathes it in deep, memorizes everything about this - about how it feels - because Harry’s here again, Harry’s alive and he isn’t going to be letting anytime soon. There’s a feeling in his bones, a warmth in his chest at knowing that somehow he was _right_ , that he does get to see Harry again, that there’s no need to cling to Harry’s ghost when he gets the real thing.

Now, when he dreams - if he dreams of that long-past day, of blood spattered on concrete and broken glasses, or of the echo of Harry’s footsteps and the soft voice without a body - now, if he wakes from those dreams, he knows they’re not real. Ghosts don’t leave their Oxfords on the floor for you to trip over in the dark, on your way to the loo in the middle of the night. Ghosts don’t complain about your admittedly overweight pug and then indulge him with biscuits under the table anyways. Ghosts don’t brew tea and then forget about it at their desk because they get so distracted kissing you. 

Ghosts don’t curl around around you when you wake from those bad dreams and whisper their love for you in your ear until you fall back asleep.

But that’s what Harry does, and Harry’s here; so, Eggsy falls back asleep, and dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	8. h is for home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably one of my favorite word prompts. Enjoy!

It’s half-three in the morning when Eggsy gets back to London.

The city is that kind of quiet stillness that only occurs so late at night; there’s a film of dew on the windscreens of all the parked cars, fog clinging to the damp corners as London straddles the line between late summer and early fall. Aside from the occasional cat loping in the shadows just out of sight and the faraway sounds of car tire on asphalt, the city is ghostly and silent.

The quiet rings in Eggsy’s ears, makes the hollow echoes in his mind all the louder. He’d been successful, in his mission, but some bad guys won’t go down without a fight - something that he would admire more if tonight’s endeavor hadn’t made him so bone-deep tired.

The doorknob of Harry’s house is wet with fat dewdrops and cold against his hand, gleaming in the orange light of the lamp-posts; Eggsy pushes inside.  
  
He doesn’t switch on a light, though the house is mostly dark. He just toes off his sticky shoes - with what else besides dew, he doesn’t think about - and heads up the stairs, shedding each piece of his suit like steel-plate armor. Eggsy doesn’t feel quite _weightless_ by the time he steps out of his trousers and reaches Harry’s bedroom door, but it’s something. It’s better.  
  
There’s a light coming from within their bedroom, and Eggsy nudges the door open with careful fingers; it’s not unusual for Harry to fall asleep while waiting up for him, and there’s no need to wake him if that’s the case.  
  
But no: Harry’s awake, rumpled and looking only half as tired as Eggsy feels, propped awkwardly against the headboard as he reads from a yellowing book. From the looks of it he’s been slowly sliding down as he reads, hair drying into frizzy, unstyled curls, his shirt creased from sitting so long. It makes warmth bloom in Eggsy’s chest and his heart ache at the same time, even though it’s a sight he’s seen many times before: _his Harry_.

Harry looks up when Eggsy pushes the door the rest of the way open and pads inside barefoot, stifling a yawn with his hand - now that the adrenaline has run its course and he’s safe and he’s _here,_  his exhaustion is catching up on him. He could’ve stayed in a hotel but oh, it’s worth it - to see the sleepy smile on Harry’s face, the casual warmth as he stretches languidly, yawning himself and pulling the smudged glasses off of his face. No hotel compares to the comfort of Harry turning the covers over so Eggsy can slide in beside him, spoon around his body - already cozy, from being tucked into bed for so long - and feeling Harry’s muscles underneath his cheek as Harry stretches out, replaces the book on the nightstand and switches out the lamp.

Eggsy can only grumble wordlessly when Harry murmurs a tired hello, turning in his arms so he can gather Eggsy to his chest and leave kisses along his temple and cheek. He closes his eyes, snuggles deeper into the pillow and into Harry, inhaling the scent of him and letting himself unwind, letting himself relax, letting his mind settle and calm. Because the smell of their sheets and Harry’s soap and the dew-heavy air is _home_ , and there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	9. i is for ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another fluff-n'-smut(ish) fill ;)

Eggsy’s a chatterbox the entire way home from the gala - only a small part due to the two-finger glass of scotch he’d consumed over the course of the evening, shaking hands and making nice with upper-class socialites. He’d been in particularly good form, placing the bug in the target’s pocket so swiftly and light-fingered that Harry had blinked and almost missed it, caught up in watching the wet red of Eggsy’s mouth as he smirked and smiled. Harry can’t blame him for his enthusiastic recount of the evening on the drive back to their lavish hotel - for cover purposes, or at least he’d told Eggsy so - even though Harry was there at the gala himself, and need not be told about how marvelously Eggsy had completed their objective.

“D'you see the earl’s face, though?” Eggsy’s smile is bright even in the dim, artfully-sconced hallway leading down to their room. “Hanging off every word - didn’t feel a thing when I slipped the bug in his suit-pocket!”

“Indeed not,” Harry replies, amused, settling a hand on the small of Eggsy’s back as he fishes into his own pocket for the room key, “You did an excellent job tonight, my dear - another successfully completed mission to add to your impressively growing list.”

Eggsy beams at him, a flush building on his cheeks as he adjusts his cuff-links primly with an air of confident self-satisfaction. As soon as the lock clicks open Eggsy pushes through the door, leading the way into the room, already tugging at the knot of his tie. Harry follows him at a more casual stroll, leaning back on the door to close it - and to watch as Eggsy lets the loosened tie slither to the floor in a slick, silky pile, smirking over his shoulder.

It’s an invitation if Harry ever saw one.

Eggsy unfastens his cufflinks, next, depositing them neatly on the dresser with a wink he shoots over the rims of his glasses - but when he turns he pauses, eyes lingering on something just out of Harry’s sight. He tugs his suit-jacket the rest of the way off, tossing it inelegantly on the freshly-made bed to step closer to whatever’s caught his eye.

Harry knows what is, of course. But it wouldn’t be a proper surprise if Eggsy knew that.

“Harry,” Eggsy says fondly, and there’s the soft tinkle of ice against metal and glass, the gentle crunch of the cubes against each other. He pushes off from the door, tucking his hands behind his back to round the corner; Eggsy’s got the bottle of champagne in one hand, letting the bottom of it rest in the ice as he tilts it up to read the cursive script on the label.

He looks up when Harry places a hand on his hip, his face breaking into another brilliant smile. “Did you do this?” he asks, gesturing to the champagne bucket and its accompanying bottle and crystal flutes. The bottle’s sweating from the change of temperature as the ice melts, and Harry tugs Eggsy’s damp hand up to his mouth to kiss Eggsy’s palm, run his lips across the ice-cooled pads of his fingers.

“I thought you deserved a reward for your excellent execution of tonight’s objective,” Harry says, voice purring and low, muffled against the skin of Eggsy’s hand. He runs his tongue up first one finger and then the others, gathering the cool liquid that’s gathered on Eggsy’s fingertips; there’s always a soft sound in the back of Eggsy’s throat when Harry gets to the sensitive pads of his fingers, one that makes Harry smirk against Eggsy’s skin. He knows the contrast between the lingering cold of the bottle and the heat of his tongue is a heady one.

“H-Harry,” Eggsy’s breath hitches as Harry’s mouth leaves his hand only to find the sensitive spot on the side of his neck, now revealed by his lack of tie and jacket. “The champagne - my reward - ’s gonna get warm, not that I’m, uh, complaining.”

“The ice will keep it cool for a while longer,” Harry responds, dragging his teeth gently along Eggsy’s neck, along the sensitive tendon that leads up towards his ear.

“It’s nice champagne,” Eggsy points out, swallowing down a needy whine. Harry smiles into his neck, pleased with each reaction.

“And as much as I’m going to enjoy getting a taste,” Harry pulls away to meet Eggsy’s eyes, blown wide and dark already from Harry’s attentions, “I think there’s something I’d rather do with my mouth instead, to begin with.”

He slides to his knees, and Eggsy shivers - but not from the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	10. j is for jump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's probably quite obvious by now, but I have a weakness for dogs.

“Come on, you can do it,” Eggsy whispers over the edge of the bed, chin on the duvet and beckoning with a wriggle of his fingers. “Come on - jump!”

The little ball of tousled fur on the carpet just looks up at him, ears flicking back and forth, eyes wide and pleading.

“I’m afraid you’re fighting a losing battle, darling,” Harry yawns, leafing through another page of the newspaper open on his lap. The soft rustle makes the dog’s ears prick up in interest, along with the soft cadence of Harry’s voice. Her tail thumps hopefully on the floor, and Eggsy reaches out to let the puppy nuzzles wetly at his fingers, trying to entice her into trying again.

“She’s got to learn to do it herself,” Eggsy replies, nudging Harry’s calf under the blanket with his toes. This time, when he calls for her, the puppy looks left and right, shifting paw to paw, unsure and indecisive about the height of the bed despite Eggsy’s promises of affectionate attention.

She _is_ just a wee thing - fuzzy and big-pawed in the way all puppies are, no bigger than JB once was, though bound to grow bigger. The pug himself is already one the bed, sitting by Harry’s feet and licking at his feet, snorting and snuffling in the way that pugs do. For a dog he’s emitting quite the air of superiority - as he’s already able to scale the obstacle of the bed’s height to sit with Eggsy and Harry, leaving the puppy to look up at them, forlorn. She whines, tail wagging again, and Eggsy whines in the back of his throat at the sight.

“Don’t let JB discourage you,” Eggsy tells the pup, “Small dogs can still do big things - you’ll grow loads and end up bigger than he is, anyhow.”

Harry snorts behind him, but Eggsy continues, reaching out to tickle underneath the dog’s chin, scratching behind her big ears when she leans into the touch. “He won’t say it, but Harry’d like it if you came up in bed, too. Then the four of us can have a lie-in, and go for a walk ‘round the park, and you can worm your way into Harry’s heart just like I did.”

“Eggsy,” Harry sighs, and Eggsy looks over his shoulder to find him folding the paper down and looking over it with a soft morning smile, meeting Eggsy’s eyes with fond amusement. He doesn’t deny it, though, which makes Eggsy grin in return.

The puppy yips and Eggsy looks back down at her, ruffling the fur on her head and petting down the length of her spine. “Sorry, love. You gotta do it yourself - come on, jump up!”

“Try calling her name,” Harry suggests, placing his hand on Eggsy’s lower back - warm, except where the cool of his ring touches Eggsy’s bare skin - to lean over Eggsy’s shoulder, peeking down at the little terrier.

“ _You_ try calling her name,” Eggsy nudges Harry with his elbow, and Harry sighs again.

“You gave her a ridiculous name,” he replies, and Eggsy chuckles, raising his eyebrows.

“No more ridiculous than _Mr Pickles_ , thank you,” he says, “Besides - Roxy vetted my choice, this time.”

Harry snorts and is quiet for a moment as he decides, pressing his lips to the back of Eggsy’s neck as he looks down at the puppy, so unsure but desperate to be with the rest of them in bed, a part of their little family. He squeezes Eggsy’s hip, once, and clears his throat before softly calling, “Come on, dear - jump up! Jump up, Excalibur! Cali!”

Eggsy coos at her as well, wiggling his fingers against the mattress, and between the two of them they’re able to do it - to convince her to jump. She squats and launches herself up, managing to get most of the way up and crawling up the rest of the way with her sharp little puppy claws, tail thumping back and forth even before she gets up in Eggsy’s face, licking and nuzzling. Eggsy laughs, squinting his eyes shut under the onslaught and rolling onto his back, which doesn’t help - Excalibur follows him with her cold nose, only stopping when Harry gathers her up into his arms and smooths down her her fur, letting her burrow into the warmth of his housecoat.

Eggsy opens one eye and then the other when it’s clear he’s no longer under puppy-attack, smiling to see that Harry’s got her in his arms, petting her ears and accepting the licks he gets in thanks.

“Cali, huh?” Eggsy grins, he beams when Harry shoots him a look over the rims of his glasses that Eggsy can only describe as amused exasperation - only to be interrupted by Cali nudging Harry’s glasses off his face with her nose.

Eggsy outright laughs at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	11. k is for kingsmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some outside-perspective-on-relationships-trope, which is always fun!

The funny thing is, they think they’re being _careful_.

Merlin mutes the comms and sighs, resisting the urge to knead the knot of tension between his eyebrows that comes from so much stressing and frowning about his top agents. He leans forward on his elbows, knitting his fingers together and resting his forehead against them, not caring that his glasses are getting smudged in the process. Those _idiots_. Fools, the both of them, and yet they’re still the top agents in the British Isles.

He hears the click of the keyboard as Roxy, running point on this mission, clicks off her microphone, too.

“Do they…” she hesitates, and Merlin looks up to see her perplexed expression, a tell-tale line forming between her eyebrows as she frowns, then quirks them upwards. “Do they think we don’t know?”

“That they’re dating? Shagging? Whatever it is that they’ve been doing for the past three months?” Merlin says, and is almost surprised that it doesn’t come out bitter. He doesn’t care, really, that Harry and Eggsy are together; he cares that they have been, continuously and without remorse, doing _stupidly_ reckless things during their joint missions that put the whole operations at risk - for the sake of the other. He’d admire their loyalty if it hasn’t resulted in several half-botched missions, a considerably lengthy tab at an opera house - for damages as well as gin - and a length apology to the ambassador to Belgium.

“No,” Merlin says, shaking his head - and despite himself, there’s a wry smile on his face. “No, they haven’t the foggiest. They think they’re being subtle.”

Roxy’s eyebrows climb towards her hairline. “Subtle?” she repeats, and then looks back at the screens in front of them. As they watch, Eggsy and Harry enter the main room of the warehouse-turned-missile-silo from two different vantage points, hugging the walls with guns drawn. There are a few mercenary guards walking about, pacing the room in easy to follow circuits; it’s only going to take them a few moments to decide on a plan of action and execute it to get to the central missile console. They’re professional spies, after all, one with many years of experience in the field - a few thugs, even ones armed with machine guns, don’t pose much of a threat between them and their objective.

Except: Eggsy and Harry aren’t discussing how to navigate the room full of guards, or what the best strategy to take them out while causing minimal blow-back or possible security risks could be. Merlin has the volume turned low so he can’t hear the minutiae of their conversation, but from the steady stream of chatter coming from their glasses link, it’s pretty clear that they’re _flirting._

Merlin’s rather sure he _doesn’t_ want to hear the minutiae of their conversation.

Roxy shakes her head, long ponytail bobby against the back of her tweed blazer, and reaches over to turn the volume knob up a few clicks. There’s a moment of hazy static, and then Harry’s voice, loud and clear.

“Stick to the south,” he says. The camera feed from his glasses tilts left and right as he scans the room again, from his vantage point on an upper deck of the silo, “Two guards on your six, walking counter-clockwise; shouldn’t be much of a challenge for you to bring them to their knees.”

Eggsy glances up and to the left, where he knows Harry is - and his grin is audible when he replies, “I happen to be good at that, as you very well know.”

“You’ll have to show me again, sometime,” Harry says, and Merlin practically groans, putting his face in his hands again. Roxy snorts, rolling her eyes again.

“Remind me to read the definition of _subtle_ to Eggsy next time he’s got a solo mission,” Merlin shakes his head, voice muffled from his hands. This time Roxy outright laughs, patting him consolingly on the arm as Harry and Eggsy keep at it, trading innuendo for innuendo even as they systematically take down the guards, jumping into the fray with a shower of bullets and well-placed roundhouse kicks that would make even Percival proud. Eggsy uses his flexibility and agility to his advantage, vaulting over the railing to take down one of the guards below with a few quick blows, kicking his gun away once he’s unconscious - just in case. Harry swivels from where he’s just landed a heavy double-punch to a guard and leans over to put a bullet in a guard coming up behind Eggsy, sniping him from above and half a room away.

“Good shot,” Eggsy says admiringly, straightening his suit jacket and approaching the computer terminal in the center console.

“Thank you - though you’d save me the extra work if you watched your own back.”

“What, you don’t like to watch it for me?” Eggsy smirks, “You’ve got the good vantage point from above, anyways - don’t you like having me underneath y-”

Merlin jabs the microphone button and interrupts Eggsy before anything more can come out of his mouth. “Galahad,” he snaps, “your priority for this mission is sabotaging the missile command console, not flirt incessantly with Arthur. You have two more days in the Czech Republic in which to shag him - keep your mind on the task at hand and we’ll all be happy to be done sooner.”

Eggsy pauses, hands stilling on the keyboard of the console computer, looking up at Harry with wide eyes - Roxy chuckles at their expressions, and Merlin nearly does too. Looking at each other, they’ve got a clear view of both Harry and Eggsy’s faces in the camera feed - and they’re wearing matching expressions of surprise.

“Did you think you were being particularly subtle?” Merlin asks, after a beat of silence, and Harry seems to recover first, expression shifting into a smirk.

“You did have hickeys all over the side of your neck in medical the other day, Eggsy,” Roxy cuts in before Harry can say anything, and if nothing else Harry looks even more smug than he had before. Eggsy groans, beginning to flush from his cheeks down to his neck.

“I assure you we’ll finish the objective in top form, Merlin,” Harry replies, striding confidently down the central stairs to join Eggsy at the console platform. Merlin watches him approach Eggsy from Eggsy’s camera feed with something like a sinking feeling in his stomach. “After all, how could we not with such a wonderful incentive?”

Then, in tandem, the camera feeds get blurry as Harry leans in to kiss Eggsy, their glasses clicking together audibly and - god, are they kidding? - Eggsy outright _moans_.

Merlin takes off his own glasses to rub at that spot between his eyes. This is what he gets, honestly, for working with agents far too confident, intelligent, and smug for their own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


	12. l is for love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of my personal favorites so far.

Eggsy collapses forward into Harry’s chest, panting and flushed, and chuckles breathlessly as Harry just pats him on the side, the most that he can do with the dregs of his energy. Underneath him Harry hums, stroking Eggsy’s sweat-slicked side and bringing his hand to rest on the small of Eggsy’s back. It takes them a few moments to catch their breaths, for their heartbeats to begin to slow as they come down from the dizzying high of orgasm, please sapping into their bones and leaving them lethargic, lazy.

It’s the perfect way to begin a Saturday morning.

Eggsy hears his jaw crack as he yawns, turning his face to the side so he can press his cheek to Harry’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The sun filtering in through the curtains makes him squint, but he doesn’t mind - not really, when right here is exactly where he wants to be.

Harry’s hand drifts up his back to tangle in his hair, carding through the damp strands and kneading a little into his scalp; Eggsy hums his approval, and after letting himself be petted for a minute or two props his chin up on Harry’s breastbone to look up at him, bright-eyed and curious.

“When did you first know?” he asks, and Harry’s eyebrows twitch at the question.

“When did I know what?” Harry asks in response, fingers not stopping their endless journey through the tangle of Eggsy’s hair at the back of his head. Eggsy’s eyelids flutter at the feeling, relishing the sensation of Harry digging his nails in a bit to gently scratch. He groans, tilting his head back and to the side as Harry scratches an itch, and smiles when he catches the look of fond amusement on Harry’s face.

“That you love me,” he murmurs. 

Harry’s fingers slow in his hair, the touch lightening almost instantly as Harry cradles the back of Eggsy’s skull, brings his hand around to cup Eggsy’s cheek instead.

“When did I not love you?” Harry says softly in reply, eyes molten-warm and so open with his love that Eggsy feels his stomach flutter, nerves coming alive and his throat closing. He can’t help it; despite the post-orgasmic haze his heart trips over itself at the confession, and he untangles his tired limbs to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, pull him into a kiss that’s less finesse, less enthusiasm than it is genuine joy and sloppy affection. Thankfully, as always, Harry doesn’t mind; he tilts Eggsy’s chin so they meet at a better angle and kisses him - and kisses him, and kisses him right back.

They part with a wet noise and grin into each other’s mouths, nearly cross-eyed because they can’t take their eyes off each other, even so close.

“Really, though,” Eggsy’s mouth quirks at the corner in a brilliant smile, unable to keep it off his face for even a moment, “What was it? Couldn’t have been the silver spoon bit.”

“I believe it was when you said My Fair Lady,”  Harry replies, running his thumb over Eggsy’s damp lower lip with a lazy smile.

“You said I was full of surprises,” Eggsy raises his eyebrows, grin sliding into a smirk, “and - well, am I?”

“You certainly are, my dear,” Harry says, already leaning in again for another kiss. “You most certainly are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Kingsman and Hartwin-variety writing and art, follow me on [tumblr!](http://venvephe.tumblr.com)


End file.
